


The Woman

by Luki



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Female John Watson, Gen, Post-Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, Season/Series 02, Sherlock Kink Meme, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 21:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11426952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luki/pseuds/Luki
Summary: “He despised her in the end. Won’t even mention her by name – just: The Woman.”“Is that loathing, or a salute? One of a kind; the one woman who matters.”Joanna Watson wasn’t sure which of her two sudden impulses were strongest; the urge to laugh in Mycroft’s face, or slap it.





	The Woman

**Author's Note:**

> Why Joanna? I preferred it to Joan, and now that Elementary took off I like to keep the characters seperate.
> 
> Written for the Sherlock Kink Meme many, many years ago when I loved the series. It’s rather scary how many unfinished fanfics I have for this show even after leaving the fandom.

“He despised her in the end. Won’t even mention her by name – just: _The Woman_.”  


“Is that loathing, or a salute? One of a kind; the one woman who matters.”  
  
Joanna Watson wasn’t sure which of her two sudden impulses were strongest; the urge to laugh in Mycroft’s face, or slap it.  
  
Of course, it was nothing compared to how she felt upon re-entering the kitchen after returning the Adler file to Mycroft (sans phone) and overhearing Sherlock talking to himself in the next room:  
  
“The Woman… _The_ Woman.”

* * *

“You’re angry with me.”

Anyone else it would be a question.  But Sherlock didn’t question.  It’s a fact, stating it just to make sure Joanna knows he knows.  

She ignores him anyway, sitting down with her laptop for what will hopefully be an uneventful night.  It’s been two days since she gave him Mycroft’s file, two days since she heard him talking to himself, and two days since they’ve had a real conversation.  To be honest, she knows she’s been lucky to get away with it this long, but she can’t help but keep drawing it out.

“That’s hardly news” Joanna replied.  “I’m usually mad at you over something.”

She could practically hear the frown lock into place, but the mad genius didn’t move from his place on the couch where he’d collapsed dramatically not five minutes before.  Joanna restrained from sighing in relief.  They might actually get through this without it turning into a fight neither of them understood.

And really, Joanna didn’t even know _why_ she was getting so upset over this.  When they’d first met, she’d been _happy_ that Sherlock treated her like he did anyone else.  Most men she seemed to come across saw the woman and barely gave their life story an afterthought.  But Sherlock had seen her psychosomatic limp, her military stance and her skills as a doctor – everything else was unimportant.  Exactly how she liked it.  Or at least, thought she’d liked it.

Then Irene…smart, beautiful, dangerous…sexual.  Well aware of what she was and perfectly willing to use it to get what she wanted.  Sherlock had been completely thrown by her - hell, Joanna considered herself 100% straight and even she had been somewhat entranced by the dominatrix that stormed into their lives.

But Irene betrayed them in the end.  She was working for Moriarty, even if she and Sherlock…even if they had had a _connection_ , did that suddenly mean Joanna didn’t matter?  

“You stopped talking to me after you met with Mycroft” Sherlock said.  “You were already unnerved after the meeting, but at some point something happened that made you close up completely. What?”

Joanna sighed.  “It doesn’t matter Sherlock.  Leave it.”

She started typing; hoping Sherlock would take the hint.  As if it had ever worked before.

“Mycroft said something that unintentionally upset you” he continued. “And I said or did something that enhanced it.”

Joanna’s only reply was more typing.

“What did Mycroft say?”

The Doctor ignored him, focused on her screen.

“Joanna?”

Just keep typing…

“Jo?”

Sherlock was getting irritated, and Joanna sighed, saving her work and prepared to move to her room for quiet.

“Sherlock, I’m not getting into this tonight, so can we please just-“

Her laptop screen slammed down and Sherlock loomed.  She hadn’t even heard him move.

“No.”

“…No?”

“I can accept you being angry with me” Sherlock explained.  “But I will not tolerate you being angry when I do not know why.  What. Did Mycroft. Say?”

“The Woman” Joanna answered, and winced.  Sherlock however, just frowned in confusion.  Despite herself, Joanna found herself explaining.

“You don’t say Irene’s name” She said, remembering the elder Holmes’s words by heart. “Mycroft said it was you giving her a salute, admitting she was one of a kind; the one woman who matters.”

“Yes, and?”

Joanna’s teeth clenched, and she stood, all the while backing out of Sherlock’s shadow. It was one thing to hear it from one brother, another entirely not to hear Sherlock deny it.

“You know what?  I’m going to bed” she said.  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She stormed out, and slammed the door on the way.  But not fast enough to miss Sherlock’s complete look of confusion on the way out. 

* * *

Joanna loathed morning shifts, but they were as much a part of life as taxes and lukewarm showers in her life.  However, when she entered the living room, Sherlock was already there, plucking the strings of his violin.

“Do I dare ask if you slept last night?” she asked, almost out of habit as she headed for the kitchen and the kettle.

“Too busy” Sherlock replied.  “Thinking.”

Joanna rolled her eyes.  Course he was.

“When I figured it out, I wanted to wake you to explain” he continued.  “But you locked your door, and evidence has shown you’re more likely to listen to me if I don’t break into your room when we’re fighting.”

“Sherlock, breaking into my room is never okay” Joanna replied, focusing on her task.

The Detective shrugged the comment aside, and continued to pluck the strings absentmindedly.

“I could never consider you ‘The Woman’ Joanna.”

Her hands clenched around the kettle, but she forced them to relax and went for her mug.  “Yes Sherlock.  Believe me when I say you made that perfectly clear.”

She heard the growl of frustration, and heard him stand, discarding the violin. She could almost picture him leaning on the wall between the kitchen and living room, but refused to turn her head to confirm it.  

He was no doubt getting enough out of her back, no need to make it easy and let him see her face.

“I _mean_ , it was never an important title for you. Irene personified herself as a woman, it was everything she way.  Yes, you are a woman, but that’s not what you really are.”

Joanna sighed, braced herself, and turned to face him.  Sherlock’s was focused completely on her, eyes still for once.

“Then what am I really Sherlock?” she said, moving and sitting down at the table.

His eyes rolled heavenward and ran a hand through his hair in apparent frustration.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” he replied, in that tone that suggested she was being particularly stupid and needed to pay more attention.

“Honestly?  Yes” Joanna snapped.  “Spell it out for me.  What am I Sherlock?”

He glared at her, before storming up to the counter and grabbing the kettle. The detective stayed silent as he fixed his own cup, and then sat opposite, watching her.

“I would have thought it was obvious Joanna.  One of the traits you appreciated in me from the day we met was that I didn’t treat you according to your gender.  Why would I consider you the one woman who matters when to me, you would be the same person if you were male?”

He smirked, lifting his cup and taking a sip before-

“You are The Soldier, The Doctor…and The Friend.  After all those, adding The Woman just seems superfluous.”

He took another drink before discarding the cup and heading out, calling back parting words.

“I hope that clears that up.”

Almost despite herself, Joanna couldn’t help but smile, and the knot in her stomach that had been so frustratingly hating her began to settle.

Sherlock was right.  She really was an idiot.

Then again, so was Mycroft.


End file.
